She stares out
pulling at things to distract her,
the park walker.
But she is so immersed,
she cannot remember
if she needs her hero to be
or a murderer.
Because right now in her mind,
to die is to be saved.
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The Chill of MeltingThe loving hands which shaped these feathers
bade me fight the fire and forsake the water,
find the space between.
Then those hands released me from our cage,
and from my mind all was gone.
The empty openness of the sky
was the same as that of my mind.
Curiosity flew to me on her silver wings
and, landing on my back,
bade me soar.
She flew into my throat and sat in my heart
warming her iced hands at the fire of my freedom.
She bade the flames burn brighter,
for her hair was tangled with frost,
her eyes had become crystals of ice,
and snow now flowed through her veins.
She sang to me a song of winter,
and in the spring sun
I sprung from the cold shadows.
Her breaths of mist filled my wings
and chilled my blistering skin.
Her icy tears streamed from my ember eyes.
She gathered the cinders in her icicle fingers
and cooled my burning fear.
But as she sang her song,
the fire bade me fall.
Curiosity’s laughter screamed in my ears.
As the ashes swirled like snow,
I floated past the soft
LabyrinthDarkness will, in this maze,
scream in the ears of wanderers.
Darkness will, in this labyrinth,
crawl into the hearts of men.
Darkness will, in this endless hall,
silence escaping words and drag the rain from eyes of children.
Darkness will, in this prison,
ColorlessFeel openness around you,
lending its strength to the worn wood
bending beneath you
and holding you up.
The trees clutch you close to their chests,
comforting your unseeing eyes.
In the quiet around you
blooms the silent flower,
your own breathing the only thing to sound
alongside the avian lullabies
singing the sun to cool slumber.
Swallow the birds’ calls,
keeping the chill of the night from your skin.
Hear the trees’ heartbeat,
beating a rhythm for your own.
Breathe in the silence
pooling about you.
Because when you’re alone
your empty eyes can see.
Red LeatherMy eyes kissed the tough wagon,
“I’m afraid I’ve surprised you” said the wheel,
as red leather rocks took the shock and flew.
They flew twice as high as the wall,
flew past the stars and grew into the moon,
as the clouds sang, loud proud and true.
The frog sat inside the mailbox,
as someone pushed a pile of post,
the wide face swung forward and bit.
Paper bruised and cut its poor throat,
so our little frog melted to soft mud
and snow fell on the hot tarmac.
Wavering heat feasts on bones,
bones disowned by the scrap dogs.
Children mutter proverbs in silence,
their eyes lamps of sugar and spice
and as the gasping earth drinks its tea,
lambs die and no one hears their cries.
Away From HomeChantel walked along the boring, grey hallway like she did everyday on the way to group therapy. Walking down those halls really reminded her how much she hated the color grey. The walls were grey, the ceiling was grey, the furniture was grey, the sky outside was often grey; the color grey seemed to be a pandemic and, the first point of infection was the building she now lived in. She was an inpatient at a sanitorium surrounded by bucolic fields, trees and, as Chantel had figured when she arrived, nothing else. Thinking about the surrounding countryside reminded her of how she had been dropped at Mountainview Sanitorium by her untenably furious parents just a week ago. However, it seemed like years since she was sitting in the leather back seat of the family Volkswagen, duffel bag at her feet. The door to group therapy and the face of her friend Claire woke her from her reverie.
“Dude, lets go! Doc is gonna kill us if we’re late again,” Claire smiled as she remembered
Out of TimeCan you feel it, I wonder?
The sand that slowly slips away.
The inexorable march of time,
Ticking away at you,
Piece by piece.
Regret, anguish; there is no joy in what comes.
All you have left are 'what if' memories,
Eating away at you, like maggots on the skin.
So deep was the pain inside of you,
So bitter the desire for change;
You even came crawling back to me,
Begging for another chance.
Shall I give it to you?
i'm sorry for only writing sad things,but saturday night i wanted to offend god
into listening to just one line- needed to drag someone
into hearing the roar between my ears with me.
i'd like to write something you can put music to-
lyrical and pretty. funny. maybe irreverent.
but today what is most real to me
is not laughter. it is feeling short of breath.
empty of poetic language. unfunny. too long
for a limerick. unsuited to sonnets. musical only
in the slamming of my heart. an erratic beat
at best. endings. comparing crises of the mind
to someone throwing up in the bathroom
after too much beer pong and hard rock-
both are shameful to repeat in therapy
and i feel like i cannot stop ruining parties.
needing steady hands for these atlas shoulders
that will not relax. staircases white like
imagined hospitals. thinking i should say
call me an ambulance. crying. not calling
an ambulance. not calling a taxi, i can't call
a taxi, i don't have money for a taxi, holding
my breath. 4, 7, 4. 4, 7, 4. in.
Feel like shit? Read this. Hey you.
Yeah you, reading this right now at this very moment.
You are awesome. No, really, you are.
You may not believe me, but it's true. You don't see it because you're upset right now.
Whatever you're going through right now, whatever has upset you or turned your life upside down, just know that it won't last forever. Nothing good lasts forever, that's true, but nothing bad lasts forever too.
Eventually whatever you're going through will pass, you'll move on through healing over time, and you'll be able to be happy again someday, don't worry. As long as you don't give up. You may never completely get over it, or it may take years or more to move on from, but I can promise as time goes on the pain will become less and less.
It may feel like no one gives a fuck about you, and you may want to give up on living, but please don't. I can promise atleast one person out there gives a fuck. And if no one does, then I do.
If you have no friends, I ca
They'll Write Dysphoria On My HeadstoneIf the journey to happiness appeared
as easy as we make it seem,
then I doubt our entire world would
Happiness is not a drug that can be forced
into our mouths,
when our situation is doused
in fire that erodes us from the inside out.
It takes a village to mend a village,
a home to mend a home,
though when the house is against one,
they start to feel alone.
Happiness can't be achieved,
when you're not acknowledged for you.
When your pronouns are erased,
when they start to misgender you.
Suddenly its your fault that
you suffer from anxiety.
Suddenly, you're to blame
when depression seizes you tightly.
Suicide is around the corner,
you want it every day,
but there's that one important
And for them, you must stay.
Though love can only last so long,
and our light will eventually fade.
Because though you continue to fight,
depression can take you away.
Your “parents” force you to be their minions,
strip you of your independence.
The beings that should accept
DoneI'm done with being who you want me to be,
Cuz I can't be that person anymore .
I need to spread my wings,
I need to be who I really am,
I'm done with being the doormat,
I'm done with saying yes when I really wanna say no!
I'm done with hiding behind my walls and mask,
I wanna fly,I wanna fight for who I am inside .
I won't bow down anymore,
I won't break if I fall.
I will rise.
FineI walked home in the middle of the street again,
with the listless pumping forward that comes from muscles hollowed out -
I didn't care if the cars hit me.
I wasn't seeking death I just stopped actively avoiding it again,
I just walked
with the restless wondering about headlights and obituaries
and the questions about whether or not I'd be loved once I did the world the favour
of not being so inconvenient as to continue to breathe.
If I could swim home in the malaise, or if I could be struck down
into a sudden and permanent state of something other than depression -
either would be fine...
Either would be fine.